


Fam·i·ly; Noun. Consists of Dinner, Blood, And Cherry Jello.

by ChaoticWeevil



Series: They're Lesbians, Harold [4]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Canon is ignored in favor of Lesbianism, F/F, Found Family, Maria is bi tho, Mild Blood, Monica's an amazing kid, No Lesbians Die, its just dramatized, like VERY mild blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticWeevil/pseuds/ChaoticWeevil
Summary: In which Carol ends an expansive war in less than a year but gets squeamish at the sight of (blue) blood.





	Fam·i·ly; Noun. Consists of Dinner, Blood, And Cherry Jello.

**Author's Note:**

> Saw Captain Marvel a whiles back and lost my SHIT about there being two (TWO!!) kinda-sorta fleshed-out women who actually get to talk to each other, in a Marvel movie.

The first time Carol spaced out (god, Maria’s gotta think of a better word for it, something more descriptive and less of a shitty, unfortunate pun), Maria thought it was because of sound.

Carol was chopping carrots, Maria was getting the chicken out of the oven to add to the soup, and Monica was setting the table in as many creative ways as she could. Napkins folded over cups, napkins fluffed up in a vase, napkins _everywhere,_ and Carol was more watching the mayhem ensue than watching where her knife was going.

And after she’d set down the chicken and reached in to fetch the remaining tinfoil, Maria’s wrist nicked the top edge of the oven. And she jerked away, accidentally slamming the oven closed. The bang was loud enough to make Monica jump a little. And Carol’s hand slipped.

Maria hadn’t realized Carol had stopped moving until a few seconds later, when Maria had her wrist under a faucet of cold water. Monica, watching with wide eyes, said a careful, “Does it hurt too bad?”

Maria shook her head. “No, baby, it’s nothing. I’ll just put a band-aid on it and it’ll all be better.”

“I know _you’ll_ be okay, mom.” Maria almost laughed, but something in Monica’s tone felt… Off. “I meant-- Doesn’t that hurt, Carol?”

Maria glanced up. There was a mess of blue across the cutting board, dripping from a gash across Carol’s thumb. And she was just watching. Jaw set, teeth clenched; steeling herself like when she woke up from her half-memories, half-nightmares.

Maria hadn’t been in much combat herself, but she met plenty who were for decades. And more importantly, she knew Carol. She knew when her Carol wasn’t doing too hot.

‘Not doing too hot’ was the understatement of the year, though, because when Carol _did_ move, it was in sluggish gestures, like she had to concentrate just to grab a still-damp dishtowel and press it to her wound. She started to take deliberate steps towards the bathroom; Maria walked with her, offering an arm for Carol to take. She just shook her head, lifting her free hand in explanation: with every movement that took Carol out of her focus, her hands glowed with heat a fraction more. The dishtowel was steaming by now.

“Mom,” Monica said, voice unsteady.

“It’s okay,” Maria said. She couldn’t tell if she was speaking to her daughter, her lover, or herself. “It’s okay, Monica, wait out here. Make sure the soup doesn’t boil over?”

Monica nodded, face almost grim; if Maria felt like speaking more wouldn’t destroy Carol’s focus, she’d point out how Monica got that steely expression from Carol. But right now, Carol’s expression was devolving from guarded to confused, mortified, and Maria pressed a careful kiss to her boiling cheek the moment she sat Carol down on the edge of the tub.

“I don’t know why I reacted like that,” Carol said. Her voice was so very small. She’d always sounded so different when she was alone with her family and on the wrong side of scared. Sometimes, Maria could hardly believe this was the same woman who tore up her knuckles in hastily won barfights, who’d fought off _planets_ to do the right thing.

“You were stuck in the biggest, baddest intergalactic war out there for the past six years, honey. I’d say you’ve got every right to get spooked at loud noises.”

“It wasn’t,” Carol said suddenly, “The noise. It was—” She glanced down at the blood still valiantly trying to fight its way out of her, but the heat radiating off of her hands kept re-cauterizing the wound.

“Oh.” Maria glanced between the blue boiled against Carol’s fingers, at the electric-blue flush to Carol’s cheeks. “ _Oh,_ honey.”

Maria only had one permanent mark she regretted. A tattoo, on her left shoulder blade, pronouncing ‘JEFFREY B.’ in big, curling letters. Every teenager made unfortunate choices of who to date. It just happened that Maria picked a guy who she didn’t love and who didn’t love her, but was more than happy to abuse the power that Maria gave him. These days, she just didn’t look at her back in the mirror and let Monica fill in the letters and scribble over it all in washable marker. Carol didn’t exactly have the opportunity to ignore the blood running through her veins.

“I feel… Possessed,” Carol said slowly, carefully. It was something they were both trying. When Maria got overwhelmed with all the helplessness and fear she’d been tamping down ever since Carol vanished, she put it to words. When Carol was struggling through deep breathing exercises as she tried to calm her powers, she talked it out. Often, it didn’t make the emotions steady out fully, but it meant they could help one another. And the both of them were very adamant about never forcing the other to do anything alone again.

Carol amended: “No, that’s not right. I feel like a possession. Like I’m marked.” The steaming dishtowel had fallen wayside, but Carol’s hands weren’t glowing anymore, so Maria got an alcohol wipe out of the medicine cabinet and met Carol’s eyes. She set her hand, palm up, on Maria’s knee so the wound could be cleaned.

“Little bit of a sting,” Maria warned as she slowly wiped away the blood. “Marked because of the color, marked because…?”

“Because it’s Yon-Rogg’s. Because he knew every last button to push to make me feel like _shit._ ”

Carol was beginning to glow again, so Maria slowly reached to cradle her cheek. She made the intention clear, so Carol could have something to mentally hold on to, to calm herself with. “It’s not Yon-Rogg’s blood anymore,” she promised. “It’s _yours._ Been running through your veins for a long while. And blood cells regenerate, don’t they? You’ll be your red-blooded self in no time.”

Carol leaned into Maria’s hand. She closed her eyes. “I’m not that lucky. Kree blood doesn’t… Do that.” Maria’s hesitation must’ve clued Carol in on how confused she was, because Carol peeked her eyes open again and patted a hand over Maria’s. “This blood is years old by now. So, enjoy that knowledge.”

“Was that a hint of humor I heard?” Maria teased lightly, carefully pressing gauze to the wound now that it was clean enough to threaten to bleed again. She wrapped the gauze tape extra securely, but chances were, Carol would still manage to accidentally tear the stuff by tomorrow.

Carol huffed out, almost a laugh. “Maybe. Here’s hoping we can make do without carrots in the soup.”

“Yeah, but it’s not going to get you _or_ Monica out of eating some veggies.

Maria heard Monica sigh dramatically loud through the door, and smiled. Of course she was listening in. Ever since Carol came back, Monica had taken it upon herself to piece together every bit of life. She just hoped the soup wasn’t boiling over, unwatched.  
  
Maria smoothed her hand down over Carol’s shoulders. “C’mon, up, some food’ll do you good.”

And it did. And Carol cleaned out the fireplace with her burning hands scooping out ash, to get the remnants of that surge of emotion out in a way that didn’t make her skin itch with the want to express. One of these days, Maria decided, she’d get Carol to do something _really_ out of her league. Like go talk to a therapist. But that was neither here nor there, because Carol’s hair was streaked with white ash and Monica was running wild in the backyard and Maria was too enamored with this little family of hers to disturb the peace.

It was good, to feel comfortable again.

 

But things kept repeating. Carol would see blue dripping over her fingers, or oozing from a scraped knee, or in a streak down from her nose, and she’d _struggle._ She explained more, at least: she used the phrase ‘betrayal’ so often that Maria felt like it wasn’t even a word anymore.

Carol detailed out how Yon-Rogg spent years prodding her into tamping down every last emotion. How she’d felt twisted into a hysterical creature for feeling rage when she had failed, how the cycle trapped her. And how goddamn free she became when she realized how she could _use_ her emotions. Now, though, everything was inverted; something of Yon-Rogg’s was forcing emotion beyond her control when she didn’t want it at all.

Monica listened, often. Or at the very least, eavesdropped. Maria let her be. She was well aware that both of them were soaking up every moment with Carol like it’d be torn away from them all over again.

But Maria felt helpless. She didn’t have any easy words of comfort, she didn’t have any advice; all she could do was hold Carol tight until her breathing evened out.

Life went on. She paid Monica her allowance, she bought a new camera, she supervised Carol sewing patches into her jeans just in case the needle pricked her.

And one Saturday morning, she hauled herself from the bed, wandered to the kitchen, and saw a mess of _red._

Red frosting, red sports drinks, red lollipops, _everything_ laid across the table was the brightest, processed red available. Monica was sitting at the head of the table, grinning like a ruler over her cherry domain.

“I hope this isn’t what you’re planning on for breakfast,” Maria said slowly.

“Not _all_ of it. Bought all this. For Carol.”

And speak of the bed-headed devil: Carol peeked in the doorway, feet bare and eyes gone wide. “You’re going to stain your teeth red for forever, kiddo. Or _I_ am.”

“You can brush them! It’s for your blood, see?” Monica picked up a sports drink, shaking it for emphasis. “We can just dye it back. Easy.”

Maria was expecting Carol to laugh, maybe. Humor Monica for a while and then claim they all ought to get some eggs and bacon to dye their blood a healthy breakfast color. Which was to say, she hadn’t been expecting to see the telltale shine of tears in Carol’s eyes.

“Thanks, kiddo,” Carol said, voice weak around the edges. Monica got up to lead her moms to sit down, patting Carol’s hand a few times before handing her a bowl of nearly-set jello. Maria bumped her daughter’s shoulder lightly, mouthing down a quick, ‘thanks, kiddo.’ She received a cheery thumbs up in return.

“I know this won’t _really_ work,” Monica confessed after she’d torn into some fruit roll-ups.

“Yeah,” Carol said, through a mouthful of jello. “Otherwise, your blood would go _purple_ from all those grape popsicles you’ve been eating by the truck-full.” Still, she kept eating, her usual smile already starting to play on her lips.

“They have juice in them, it’s healthy!” Monica defended. “But I figure, uh,” she plopped a lollipop on Maria’s plate. “It’ll help, a little? Like a sugar pill. Placebo effect.”

Maria grinned. “See, I didn’t think you’d take the ‘sugar’ part seriously.”

Carol perked up even more. “You two were _both_ in on this?” But Maria stuck the lollipop in her mouth, putting up both hands in surrender before pointing a mock-accusing finger at her daughter.

“It was just me,” Monica confirmed, pride bolstering her tone. “Bought it with my allowance.”

“Trying to win my loyalty, huh? Do you really think I’m gonna fall for that? Buy you even more popsicles?” Carol leaned in conspiratorially, shooting Maria a wink. “’Cause I will. Don’t tell your mom, I’m trying to impress her.”

And Maria’s laugh was somewhere between relieved and joyful and just plain _comfortable again,_ at long last. She’d gotten one hell of a second chance to be with the woman she loved, safe and sound. Monica had gotten her whole family back. And it was starting to look like Carol would have all that too, it was starting to look like things would be okay.

And besides, Maria could get used to the taste of cherry at breakfast.


End file.
